The Way to Narnia
by Francienyc
Summary: Edmund the Just grapples with the idea of his own forgiveness and salvation just after Tirian appears and just before the train wreck. A companion piece to Kings in Exile.
1. Tea and Tirian

_A/N: This story is a shout out to Madelynne Rabb, who gave me the idea of continuing after I finished "Kings in Exile." I didn't think this part fit with that story, but I like it as a new story focusing on Edmund_.

* * *

Thank goodness Edmund's cool head prevailed. While Lucy and the kids were staring in shock and Polly was gasping and Peter commanding, Edmund was already thinking. That was why he didn't join in his brother's entreaties—he was too busy dwelling on the wherefores. By the time he came up with something sensible to ask, the apparition had vanished.

Peter turned back to the table, and his face was very white. "What in the name of Aslan is going on in Narnia?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

"He looked so sad!" Lucy exclaimed.

"He looked like a king," Eustace added.

"So very sad!" Jill echoed.

At the other end of the table the Professor was saying in a trembling voice. "I tell you, Polly, I don't know how I knew, but I had this feeling in my bones."

They went on repeating these things and saying nothing of consequence until Edmund couldn't get a clear thought in his head. Finally he had to shout. "Peace, all of you! Sit down and shut up for a second and let a chap think."

The chatter was quelled by Edmund's irritated outburst. There was no sound for a minute but the scraping of chairs as Lucy, Eustace, Jill, and Peter took their seats again.

"All right, let's sort this out," Edmund said when everyone was settled. "First, someone clean up that glass. We can't help Narnia with lacerated feet."

Eustace got up and fetched a towel from the kitchen. As he knelt to clean the glass, Edmund continued. "Now, who was that man?"

"Certainly he was a Narnian," Peter said instantly. "And I agree with Eustace that he was a king. I could see it in his face."

"He looked very Narnian," Lucy added, and everyone else murmured agreement.

"And he's not the Prince Rilian?" Edmund asked Jill.

She shook her head. "No. Rilian was different."

"So we have to assume that some significant amount of time has passed in Narnia since you were there if this stranger is king," Edmund said, settling back in his chair and rubbing his chin.

"But look here," Eustace said, his head popping up over the edge of the table, "How did this fellow manage to call us? Caspian came to our world, yes, but that was only after he was dead in Narnia and only because Aslan sent him. I've never heard of the Narnians being able to call us."

"But they have," Lucy said.

Peter took her cue. "Indeed. It was Caspian who winded Susan's horn and called us four back into Narnia a second time."

"Quite right," Edmund said. "So this may be something like. I don't know how he managed it, especially since he appeared to be bound, but his appeal must have been to us. And now the question is, how are we going to help?"

"Why, isn't it obvious? We must go to Narnia," Jill said staring.

"But that's just the problem. How does one get to Narnia?" Edmund asked, fixing Jill with a shrewd eye.

"Some of us aren't allowed," Peter said. Edmund looked to him sharply, but when he saw that Peter was merely stating it, he let his brother's comment pass.

She opened her mouth, but then she and everyone else realized the question was not as simple as it sounded. A frustrated silence stole over them.

"If only the wardrobe hadn't been destroyed!" Lucy sighed.

Edmund was practical. "It wouldn't work."

"It would. This time, I'm sure it would. We need to get to Narnia. It would know." Lucy was insistent, and her eyes grew very bright.

"Oh Lu," Peter said, his voice full of gentle compassion. He circled the table to hug her. She buried her face against him and cried for a minute.

Edmund felt a stab of jealousy. _No one turns to me for comfort. Not like that._ When he spoke again, he was a little more brusque than necessary. "All this wishing for wardrobes is well and good, but we're still left with the original problem."

"We-ell," Jill began slowly, "when Scrubb and I went to Narnia, we asked Aslan. And he sent us."

"We held out our hands and prayed," Eustace added. "Maybe, if we tried now…"

"Maybe," Polly said. "It's a good a shot as any, love."

Lucy looked up quite suddenly, appealing to Peter first. When she saw enough confidence in his face she sniffed and addressed the company. "Better than that. Aslan is listening; he always has been."

Edmund was starting to feel wretched. All the things he thought he conquered years ago, all the lessons he thought he learned from Narnia, they unlearned themselves in England. When Lucy spoke, her face was shining with tears and conviction and her brother's arms were around her for support, and a bitter sentiment surged into Edmund's throat like bile. _She is such a child_, he thought with disdain, but that idea fought with the truth. _She has a faith I could never own._

"We'd better shut the doors. After we asked Aslan, we opened a door to the end of the world. It might be the same here," Eustace said, bringing Edmund back to the task at hand. Hope sent a little shiver up his spine.

Peter nodded, and he and Eustace each closed one of the doors leading into the room. Though nobody said it out loud, everyone in their heart of hearts believed Aslan would hear their prayer and let them into Narnia. Lucy was almost shivering with excitement, and Edmund felt that every nerve in his body was tingling. Peter and Eustace sat down, and they all joined hands.

"You ask, Peter," Lucy said. "You're the High King."

_And me? I could ask._ Even so, Edmund kept his peace as Peter closed his eyes and sighed. He was silent for a moment, and then his voice rang through the room. "Aslan, ever our protector and our guide, please hear us. Let us into Narnia so we may help these people in their hour of greatest need. We have served your will before and we long to do so now; we ask only for the chance."

Edmund felt Lucy squeeze his hand. He realized he had been holding his breath. They all held hands a minute more, each adding one silent wish. Then everyone let go and lifted their heads and looked into each others eyes. Peter nodded once, and Jill and Eustace ran to the doors and threw them open. Edmund almost couldn't look, but when he forced himself, he saw that they led into the hallway and the kitchen as they always had. "I thought it would work," he mused in amazement.

"So did I," Lucy whispered to him alone, and he saw that she was trying to hold back more tears.

"Now what?" Eustace asked.

Peter gave a frustrated grunt and got up to pace. "If I were there, I would lay waste to the foul enemies of Narnia!"

"So would we all," Edmund agreed, "If we only knew how."

"There may be a way," the Professor said very quietly. "I didn't want to speak of it in case there was something else we could do. But it's plain there's not, so we must try this. You remember the rings, Polly."

Polly gave a gasp. "Those rings! That is dangerous."

"Are you speaking of the rings that led you to Narnia at its birth?" Edmund asked.

"The very same. But listen, there are many problems."

"I'm sure we can think of something," Edmund said, leaning closer.

"Listen closely first. There are two sets of rings: two yellow and two green. The yellow take you into the wood between the worlds, a place full of pools that lead to thousands of other worlds. But this wood is dangerous. It is a soporific place where you can quickly lose thought of anything in any other world. And there are thousands of pools, millions, so it would be hard to find that which leads to Narnia. To find it, you have to switch to a green ring and step into one of the pools."

"But if you get the wrong world, you can just change to the yellow ring and go back to the wood," Eustace pointed out practically.

"Yes, but even then it's not that simple. There is no telling what worlds you might find in the pools. We found Jadis, and we brought her into Narnia with us."

Edmund turned very pale and felt his stomach lurch as it usually did whenever he saw Turkish Delight.

"But through all this difficulty you still think it possible?" Peter asked the Professor.

"Yes. For Jill and Eustace, at least. I don't think any ring could overthrow Aslan's command, I'm sorry to say." He looked very sorry indeed. It would have been powerful aid to send the High King back to Narnia.

Peter was thoughtful. "Still, it's a way. It's something. What do you think, Ed?"

Edmund shook his head, clearing it of awful memories and aftertastes of bad candy. "It appears we have no other choice. If there were another way, I would say we should take it, but there isn't. And even though it's dangerous, I couldn't sit idly by and know we had not done everything we could for Narnia. But we must ask Jill and Eustace. After all, they'll be using the rings."

Jill looked very frightened, but she swallowed and said at once "I'm game." Eustace couldn't speak from his own nerves, but he nodded fervently.

The professor sighed again. "Now here's the second problem. The rings are buried in the back garden of the house I grew up in in London."

"Do you know if it survived the air raids?" Eustace asked, having found his voice again.

Polly nodded. "Oh yes. I went to see the place just after the war."

"But we don't own the house," the Professor said. "Nor does anyone we know."

"Are the rings inside?" asked Jill.

"No. I buried them in the yard. They were underneath a tree of Narnian wood, but that was chopped down and made into the wardrobe. Still, I could tell you the corner of the garden pretty well. Once one of us got in."

"Two of us. Edmund and I shall go," Peter said at once.

"But how will you get in?" This was Eustace again. He was starting to become a bit of a wet blanket because he was scared and frustrated.

Edmund rubbed his chin. He was starting to relish this for the adventure and for his moment. "We'll have to sneak in. Pretend we're…I've got it!" he snapped his fingers. "We'll dress up like workmen and go very early in the morning. No one shall see, and if they do, we'll only say we're there to check on something."

"You could say it was the drains. It's been an awfully wet summer and it's very plausible there's something wrong with a lot of drains in London," Eustace put in.

"That's perfect!" Edmund said. "I have a friend who could lend us jackets. He works for the London sewer."

Now that the adventure was beginning, Peter's eyes began to shine and Edmund started to smile. They would worry about Narnia when they got there, but now the main thing was to get the rings. This was almost as good as the battles they used to share in a Golden Age thousands of years past in Narnian history.

The company adjourned shortly after that, exhausted with news and plans. Peter and Edmund agreed to set out the next day, since there was much to do. He and Peter were sleeping in the same room, just as they had in the Professor's house so long ago. They sat up talking even long after the rest of the house was asleep, or so they thought. Near midnight, Lucy poked her head through the door. "I saw your light under the door," she said.

"So you did. Come in, Lu," Peter said warmly, and he moved over in bed to make room for her. She curled up next to him and put her head on his shoulder. Again Edmund felt that old pang. Everyone wanted to trust in Peter.

"I wish there was something I could do," she said sadly.

"We all do," Peter agreed, and there was a restless something in his eyes.

Edmund didn't say anything. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them, his old pensive expression from his boyhood. _As if all this talking would help. As if wishing could make Aslan forget his commandments and magic us to Narnia._

There was a light knock on the door. When Peter called "Come in!" the Professor appeared with his frazzled white head and his brocade robe. "I was looking for you in your room, Lucy," he said kindly, "But when you weren't there I guessed I'd find you here. I have something for you." He held out a small black box.

Lucy jumped off the bed to take it—she always moved with such alacrity. She tucked her legs underneath her as she sat back down to open it. As soon as she saw what it was she stopped in mid movement, holding the lid of the box suspended in midair. "Is it--?" she whispered.

Edmund turned his head sideways, now resting his cheek on his knees. _She is always so amazed by everything. You'd think that would wear thin or wear out as she got older, but no._

But the Professor was misty-eyed too. "It is. I took it from the ruin."

Lucy reached into the box and slowly, slowly drew out a splintered fragment of carved wood. There was a knob on it. "Look," she said in a queer voice. "It's from the door in the wardrobe."

Peter took it from her and ran his hands over the wood. "The old way to Narnia," he murmured.

"Now we'll have to find a new way," the Professor said. "Or resurrect an older one."

"Then we'll have to build a wardrobe when we get back to start the whole thing over again," Edmund quipped, though his voice was somewhat muffled because he was speaking mostly to his knees. Still, it was enough to make everyone laugh.

* * *

_A/N: So ziller mentioned to me that the wardrobe was actually destroyed, and I was like oh. There goes my big symbol for the story. But then I realized that it would be better if all they had was a fragment, and that the handle was better than the wardrobe whole. Then I thought that there needed to be more of a conflict, so I added some shades to what Edmund was thinking and voila. Hope you like the revisions--Peter's my favorite, but after all I had to do Edmund justice. He's got to have his own internal battles too! Angst for everyone!_  



	2. Midnight and Morning Musings

Edmund woke in the middle of the night. It was a habit he had never been able to break: at three AM his eyes would fly open. If he was lucky, he'd be able to go back to sleep. Mostly though, in Narnia or in England, he was alone with his thoughts until the dawn. When his eyes opened that night he knew he was not going back to sleep, and he turned onto his side with a lot of sighing and rustling of the sheets. He looked around the room that was bathed in a moonlight far more mystical than the pragmatic surroundings of a country cottage. When his eyes fell on Peter's bed, he saw that Lucy was in a tight little ball at the foot, her hand curled around the knob of the wardrobe. He was simultaneously touched by her steadfast confidence and annoyed. Lucy was so _good_. She was always happy, she always believed. She worked to make everyone else happy and never had cross words for anyone. Everyone loved Lucy. Whenever he had a row with her when they were growing up, Peter defended her. On the _Dawn Treader_ he and Caspian had almost come to blows a couple of times. It didn't matter that he was right; Caspian never fought with Lucy. He only said "I know exactly what you mean," when Lucy said something. Edmund punched his pillow down and rolled over to his other side. _No one knows exactly what I mean_, he thought sulkily.

He was better in the morning; at least he was able to get over such moments now. Peter walked with a swing in his step, packing things at random and talking a lot about when they used to set off for battle. The thing was, Peter and Edmund rarely went together. At first they did, when they were ferreting out the remnants of the White Witch's army, but when the giants appeared on the Northern frontier Edmund saw that it was wiser not to go. He wanted to very much; he wanted his share in the glory. He wanted to fight with Peter. But as much as he could hold his own in battle, Peter felt the need to protect him, and even when they had laid out careful strategies the night before, Peter risked them all to defend Edmund whenever he thought his brother was in danger. It was a beautiful sentiment in a way, but it irritated Edmund, because of course he was going to be in mortal danger. That was what battles were about.

In the end, Edmund helped laid out the battle plans in the war cabinets at Cair Paravel and Peter rode off under the standard. Then most often Edmund would be left wandering the castle idly, listening to the small quarrels of the happy Narnians or idly spinning astrolabes in the Chamber of Instruments. He gave up the glory because it was the wise thing to do, and because of that everyone invoked Peter's name when they talked of the Golden Age of Narnia.

And so while Peter was striding around the room as if he were going to usher in another Golden Age for Narnia, Edmund was thinking. Last night everything had seemed so easy and so obvious. Now Edmund was starting to worry about the details. Would his friend lend him the uniforms? Would he and Peter really get away with breaking and entering? If they did get caught, how would they explain themselves? The thought of standing there and telling a stern-faced bobby that they were looking for rings to send them to another world was alarming, but at the same time it made Edmund snicker.

Peter and Edmund bid everyone farewell at the train station. Lucy was staying behind with Jill and Eustace, who were about to go back to school. Edmund could see in her eyes that she wanted to relive Narnia in peace, without having to worry about Susan, and he understood.

He wrung hands with Eustace and the Professor, and he gave Jill a rather awkward kiss on the cheek. Peter had done this with very sure movements, but Edmund felt much more at odds about it. Besides, he was rather getting the idea that Jill might be developing a crush on him, though one could never be too sure about girls. But he turned from Jill to hug Lucy who said "Get the rings and come back safe to us," as she hugged him tight. "Come back safe to us." That was what she always said when they parted, whether he was going to school or to battle. He knew she only ever said it to him; she had another whispered message for Peter, and this secret confidence was what made him love his sister just as much as everyone else. Even if he did sometimes resent her perfection.

Then the conductor called for all aboard and Edmund and Peter hopped on. The train pulled away from the platform, and they leaned out the door together, waving their caps to the party collected on the platform. Edmund watched and waved and saw Lucy doing the same until the train went round a bend and the platform disappeared behind him.

"Two and a half hours to London," Edmund muttered as they looked for an empty compartment, banging their suitcases down the corridor. "Then we'll arrive in Victoria and we have to get on the Tube…we should be home by teatime."

"Excellent," Peter said. "There'll be time enough for you to ring up your friend tonight."

"Right." Edmund swallowed. He was beginning to get nervous without really knowing why. The details were troublesome, but he was pretty sure it would all work out in the end. Perhaps it was the excitement of a mission for Narnia, but that didn't answer all of Edmund's worries. Something else was around the bend, and the fact that he couldn't say what was the most troubling of all.


	3. Rugby and other Hazards

The next morning Edmund was tossing his things around his room in an invested search for his rugby cleats. He was so intent on finding them he didn't realize how much noise he was making; he had to get to the game on time or he didn't know when he'd be able to talk to Simon about the uniforms.

A few seconds after he tossed a dictionary aside with a thud, Peter appeared in the doorway rubbing his hair as he did when he was drowsy. "Ed, why are you up so early?"

"I've got a game."

"A game?" Peter repeated, somewhat stupefied by sleep.

"Rugby. I'm going to play with some friends."

"Ed," he said in a low, urgent voice, "Is this for the uniforms?"

Edmund looked up at Peter and nodded once.

"Then I'm coming with you."

Peter met Edmund in the entryway, looking dashing even in a simple rugby shirt. Edmund restrained an eye roll. _Can't he wear clothes like normal people?_ But he quickly reminded himself how miserable Peter had just been when he thought he was doomed to be like normal people and he forgave his brother the bravado.

They took the Tube into town, and the streets were still mostly empty with the pale grayness peculiar to cities in the early morning. The sky was an opal gray and the sidewalks a dull, thick gray, making the whole city seem tired.

"So after we get the uniforms, and the rings, what then?" Peter asked.

"Well, we'll just wire everyone and arrange to meet them. And then we'll hand the rings over to Jill and Eustace and make sure they disappear and then we…" here he trailed off, for he wasn't quite sure what would happen to him and Peter.

"Yes, that is the problem, isn't it? What do we do after this? Where do we go? I feel like the time has come to make some plans, but I don't know where to begin."

Edmund shook his head. "I don't know either, Peter."

Peter stopped dead in his tracks, and so suddenly that Edmund was a good four or five paces ahead before he wheeled around. Edmund queried his brother with a raise of eyebrows.

"Sorry," Peter answered, giving himself a shake. "It's just—well, I'm jiggered. I thought that you of all people would know, Ed. You've always got a plan."

Edmund shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. "No. No ideas, actually."

Peter let out a long breath and pushed his hand through his hair. "So what are we going to do then?"

"Good question," Edmund said. He squinted up at the sky then looked back at Peter. "We could start by going to the game."

They walked a couple more blocks before either spoke again. "I must say I'm surprised, Ed," Peter ventured. "I'd have pegged you for the law. Maybe a judge. That would be alright."

"Except for the wigs," Edmund grinned. "I thought about law, but it might just be frustrating. I won't be able to change all the stupid laws or really hand out punishments people deserve. I would just be a puppet of the government; it's not really a powerful job."

Peter nodded.

They arrived at the park where half the players were casually tossing and kicking the ball. They waved cheerfully to Edmund, and he called out an introduction to Peter, and both of them joined the practice.

Peter was certainly athletic, but he was not categorically good at sports. He was a fair football player at best, and he was actually rather poor at cricket. He fared much better with the sports that let him exercise all the prowess he had learned in battle: he was always coxswain for the crew team at school, and he had won several fencing tournaments at university. And of course, rugby was Peter's kind of game. As soon as he hit the pitch he impressed everyone, and they made much of him and declared he'd play as fly-half, calling all the offensive plays for the team. Edmund was at his usual position of scrum-half, starting the ball in play when it came out of the scrum. He was particularly good at this, being both agile and sharp eyed, but on that day Peter outshone him. He made lightning quick passes, sudden, vengeful tackles, and when he made a fabulous drop goal with the defenders closing in, he was the unquestioned hero of the team. The sweat dripped from his face and his hair shone in the sun and everyone was clapping him on the back. It was all Edmund could do from kicking up dirt sulkily or throttling Peter. The best course of action he could see would be to play as hard as he could. Maybe that would let him forget about Peter the Magnificent, who was running around as if it were the world cup.

Edmund's play grew erratic as he got more frustrated: he couldn't avoid the opposing scrum-half as well and got caught in a couple of stupid tackles just coming out of the scrum. He'd make a brilliant play only to be waylaid the next opportunity. Finally, he lost his head and decided to plow through everyone for a try, but instead of getting anywhere all it earned him was a good hack which sent him to the ground clutching his knee.

They called a foul and stopped play, of course, but he couldn't get up. He felt like a fool with everyone standing over him as if he were the ball in a scrum. Peter managed to push his way through the crowd. "Ed!" He exclaimed, kneeling beside his brother. Are you alright?"

"Fine," Edmund grunted. "It's just my blasted knee." He tried to straighten his leg and sit up, but even that was rather painful, and he found he couldn't do it.

"Stop. You'll only hurt yourself more," Peter said. "Step back!" he cried to everyone. "Let me help him up."

Instantly the dense, sweaty circle of bodies that had made Edmund feel like he was in a cave vanished, and he found himself looking into Peter's face, which was backlit by the sun shining dimly through the clouds. "Lean on me, and try not to move your leg."

The next thing Edmund knew he was upright, and Peter was trying to pick him up. "Peter!" he hissed. "For heavens sake, you don't need to carry me! Just help me over to that bench."

Peter did as requested and Edmund collapsed on the bench. He examined his knee, touching it gingerly.

"You need to go home," Peter pronounced, watching his brother wince. He leaned closer and added, "But what about the uniforms?"

"Nothing for it but this. Oy! Simon!"

Simon came trotting over. He had freckles and an overbite, but Edmund had been smart enough to see he was a decent fellow. "Edmund, are you alright? That looks pretty nasty."

"Well, it doesn't tickle."

"Do you have to leave?" Simon was technically asking Edmund, but he was looking at Peter.

"Yes. Ed's got to get home. Make our apologies, will you?"

Edmund sensed the conversation coming to an inconveniently fast close. Either that, or Peter would ask, so he plunged forward. "Simon, how about lending me a couple of your work shirts?"

"What for?"

"Oh, a bit of a lark. Something to amuse my sister." Edmund was quick to play his trump card. Still, he knew Simon was very taken with Susan and would in fact lay himself over hot coals if it would so much as make her smile.

"Susan?" he asked eagerly, though he tried to play it off right afterwards. "Sure. Sure you can borrow them. Ill come by tonight to drop them off, yeah?"

Edmund nodded, and Simon ran back to join play. Peter helped Edmund up with a grave look.

"You lied to him," he said.

"What was I supposed to do? Tell him the real reason we want the shirts?"

"No, but you didn't have to lie about Susan."

Edmund smiled with half his mouth. "Who said I was talking about Susan?"

Peter frowned. "That's an awfully gray moral area." He raised his free arm to hail a cab.

Edmund turned to stare at his brother a moment. Peter was noble and kingly looking, a look that came as much from the set of his jaw and the gleam in his eye than his natural features. "How convenient it is for you to be morally upright. I wish I could live in a world where all was black and white," Edmund muttered.

"What?"

He could have snapped at his brother like he really wanted to, but he decided to hold his tongue. Peter helped him into the cab.

There was some debate about whether he ought to go to the hospital, but in the end Edmund assured Peter he could manage with some aspirin and some ice. So they went home.

* * *

_Forgive all the rugby talk, especially if it was poorly done. Rugby is a complicated game! But I had to (or wanted to) explain Edmund's sore knee that he talks about in the Last Battle._  



	4. Of Justice

Edmund lay with his hands under his head, staring at the ceiling. _3am._ He was not surprised to be awake at that hour. He was not even surprised that he hadn't fallen asleep to being with. After all, his knee had kept him up the night before.

In a couple of hours he would wake Peter up and they would go look for the rings. Probably he would have to stop Peter from trying them. That was Edmund's job: to show restraint. _Caspian, you can't go to the very end of the world. Peter, we can't ride headlong into battle together. Susan, you can't give yourself over to any and every charming suitor._

As if on cue, he heard Susan come lightly up the stairs. He knew from his many 3am's that she often came home this late. Before the gulf really opened between them, she would sometimes peek in on him. If she found him awake—and she always did—she would perch on his bed and chat with him. It was idle talk, really, but her voice was so soothing and melodic it lulled him into peace. When she left, he always past the rest of the night in a beautifully soft slumber. That was Susan's gift, to bring tranquility.

But all this was before the colossal fight of a couple week before. It had been about Peter, and a little about Lucy, and a lot about Narnia; he didn't have much to do with it. Still, he felt his anger rising when she mocked Peter enough to bring him down, bring Peter down of all people, and when she insulted Lucy he couldn't stand it. He flew at her. It didn't matter than they were practically grown. Edmund couldn't let anyone call Lucy ridiculous. He had done it far too often and too unjustly in their childhood.

After Peter pulled them apart, Edmund chased Susan upstairs. He caught her on the attic steps. Both were panting hard. She stepped backwards and stumbled into a sitting position, looking up at him with angry eyes. He though of hitting her again, but he changed his mind at the last second.

"Su," he pleaded. "Why are you doing this? We all used to be so close."

"I told you to stop, Edmund. I meant it."

"But Aslan—"

"Oh, enough with these lions and fake countries! How do you keep all this with you?"

"Look here, Susan," Edmund said sternly. "All this denial is no good. You forcing yourself to forget—it's turning traitor."

"Oh, and you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" she spat.

Edmund took it in stride. "Better than anyone," he said ruefully.

"And you'd like to think it was the same, but it's not. Forgetting is not the same as selling your family to death for Turkish Delight! You betrayed us, Edmund. Don't compare what I do to that. This is nothing."

Edmudn should have seen his window, that Susan was talking about Narnia as if it were fact, but he was reeling from her comment. What was there to stay? If it weren't for Aslan it's very likely they all would have died. By his hand.

She had conquered him. He left her seething on the stairs and went down to Lucy and Peter to lick his wounds with them. He hadn't really spoken to Susan since.

Edmund turned his face to the wall so that if by chance Susan looked in she wouldn't see he was awake. He wanted to imagine that he heard her pause in the doorway.

She was the only one who ever addressed his treachery. Peter and Lucy never breathed a word about it, and who knows what they thought in their secret hearts? Did they hold on, like Susan? Or worse, had they forgiven him?

Even in Narnia, no one spoke of what he did, though the deed was known. Edmund knew why this was. About a year after they took their thrones at Cair Paravel, he had been passing time one afternoon in the Chamber of Instruments, just off the Throne Room. Suddenly he heard a rise in the volume of voices in the hall outside, and the familiar hiss and clang of a sword being drawn. He was about to rush in to aid, but even as he cracked the door he heard his brother's voice ring out.

"And what means your honor with this comment?" Peter demanded. Peering through, Edmund could see him gripping his shining sword.

A dwarf spoke up. "If it please your Majesty, the court knows of his adventure with the Witch. He has performed admirably for Narnia since, but mightn't there be a certain…temptation?" Edmund heard several murmurs of assent.

Peter's reply echoed in the hall like the growl of a lion. "Do you make an adventure on our royal person? For when you slander our brother you slander us?"

"But it's not—"

"Henceforth," the High King continued above the objections, "no one shall make mention of King Edmund's past, particularly since they are not familiar with the entire story. He is your King, and rightfully so. He is Duke of Lantern Waste and Count of the Western March, and we ourselves made him a knight of Narnia, head of the Most Noble Order of the Table. All of this is by the grace of Aslan. And so to question the Kingship of Edmund is to injure us and insult the wisdom of the Lion. Therefore, we expressly forbid mention of it. Any who disobey may come and deal with us personally."

The High King sat down with his naked sword laid across his knees. Edmund couldn't see his face, but he could imagine the expression: stern, proud, and fierce, with the chin held high and the eyes glittering.

Edmund withdrew into the chamber and found he was shaking a little. Even so, he couldn't suppress a small, wry smile. Peter had finally gotten the knack of royal language; he hadn't been able to make it sound natural until just then.

Peter had defended him, but had he been worthy of defending? This was the question that woke him every night. He knew.

No one told him why Aslan went to the Stone Table, but he was smart enough to figure it out. Aslan had given up his life for him, when in truth Edmund deserved not sacrifice, but punishment.

He tried to be worth of the sacrifice Aslan made. He tried to restrain his temper, govern fairly, love his people and his family as best he could. He tried not to question Peter's authority as High King or resent that he was not eldest and most powerful. But can one ever earn such love? The fact remained that what had happened stayed with him, and he was stained in a way that clear-eyed Lucy and glittering Peter never were. Even Susan, cool though she was, was still blissfully pure, though he didn't know for how much longer.

_I betrayed them, sold them for power and a throne. And in the end I wound up sitting on a throne. Where is the justice in that? If justice were truly served—well, I should have died on the Stone Table, not become King Edmund the Just. I make justice a farce. I should not have enjoyed your comradeship and your love. I don't deserve it._

The eastern sky was a bright cerulean now, tinged at the horizon with a green streak of dawn. The time had come to awaken Peter and do what he could for Narnia. Edmund slithered out of bed and went down the hall.


	5. Auroral Adventures

Edmund found that he barely needed to shake his brother. With even a light prod and a softly said "Peter," the High King sat up in bed and graced Edmund with a smile. "Time, is it?" he asked. When Edmund nodded, he said, "I've been waiting."

"Waiting in your sleep?" Edmund raised an eyebrow.

"You remember. You sleep, but you sleep prepared. Even in dreams you ready yourself."

"I remember," Edmund murmured.

They took the Underground again, and this time they were so early they caught the first train. Peter settled back into his seat. His shoulders were straight and the glint of adventure was in his eyes. _That work shirt is hardly more of a disguise than his full court regalia._ Edmund shook his head, but he smiled. It was better to have Peter as himself again. Much as he sometimes resented his brother's nobility, Edmund found he too relied on Peter to be stalwart.

He examined his own face dimly reflected in the window. He was very pale from lack of sleep, a color heightened by the contrast with his shock of dark hair. There were deep circles under his eyes and a yellow bruise on his jaw from the game the other day. He looked neither majestic nor kingly, only rather tired.

The only other person in the train car was a girl about their age. She too looked tired, but her clothes were too fresh and too modest for her to have been out all night. She looked over the mirror of her compact and saw Edmund examining her. She gave him a thin smile and mouthed "Your friend is very handsome." Peter was not paying attention.

"He's my brother," Edmund mouthed back, "and I know. He gets that a lot." He was unsure why he had to correct her, but he did anyway.

Obviously she wanted him to behave like a normal boy and nudge Peter and whisper something about her so Peter would notice. But Edmund didn't, because he wasn't feeling like a normal boy just then. When the girl got off at the next stop she made a last ditch attempt and dropped a paper. Peter automatically picked it up, failing to see the blatant transparency of the gesture. They made eye contact and she winked. Peter smiled in return, his kind and distant court smile that plainly said his gesture was mere politesse.

Edmund chuckled to himself. That was how it had always been in Narnia too. All the girls and dryads, the lowly and the lovely women from Calormen to Terebinthia noticed the Magnificence of Peter the High King. Indeed, he fairly radiated glory. The funniest part was his immunity to all the looks and flirtation. Peter could spot someone with intentions on Susan—honorable or otherwise—a mile away, but he was blind to any designs on his own person. It usually fell to Edmund, always a keen observer, to point out such dalliances. He always enjoyed Peter's shock, and the momentary falter in his High King persona.

Edmund had his share of flirtations, and though he could never rival Peter, the few attentions kept him happy enough that he could watch Peter with merriment. That was good. Edmund always sought to banish his old resentment of Peter, but it was sometimes a slow process, an erosion of old habits just as the waves ground down the peninsula of Cair Paravel. It was certainly taking Edmund two lifetimes.

The train ground to a screeching halt in the middle of the tunnel. Edmund crossed his arms and let out a long sigh and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. _Why can't anything work properly? It's a simple matter, really. One only has to organize the trains and be aware of the schedules. If I were in charge I could do it handily and make sure we all had a decent way of getting around._

_If I were in charge…_Edmund repeated the words in his head and was sucked into a nasty memory of blundering in the snow and swearing he would bring decent roads to Narnia when he was king. This was before he knew he would be king anyway, when he believed the White Witch and only the White Witch had the power to make him so. His worst hour.

He found it alarming that little had changed from that time to this. He realized it was perhaps overanalyzing, but it was still unpleasant to think that so little had changed. Perhaps he was still the same person in other ways. Perhaps he could still—

"Peter," he said suddenly, to keep himself from finishing that thought, "I've been rather a little beast, haven't I?"

Peter turned to stare at him. "What on earth are you talking about, Ed?"

"Just in general. At school, when I used to pick on kids smaller than me. At home, when I teased Lucy…all those times."

"That was ages ago! Before we ever even knew of Narnia—you haven't been that way since." Peter's tone was one of amazement.

"Not ever?"

"Not like you were."

Edmund was saved from a reply from the train groaning to a start again. He kept his silent council, momentarily assuaged by Peter's amazement as his question. Maybe he wasn't entirely the same.

They came up from the Tube in an old quiet section of London, where the houses seemed untouched by the war and years of air raids. That some part of London was undamaged, static in a former time was something of a miracle. Edmund took a moment to appreciate it. It was the end of high summer, so the dawn was in full flush even at that early hour, but because the sun was so low the buildings cast long blue shadows on much of the ground. Edmund preferred this: they would have more cover. He forgot his ruminations from the train for a moment and felt a thrill travel through his body even as he did something as innocuous as search for the address the Professor had given them. He exchanged a glance with Peter, who was grinning. Peter nodded toward a house with a white door. "I think that's the house."

"So it is." Edmund's voice was trembling a little.

They approached the house quietly, making as little noise as they could. "They're all attached," Peter noted in a whisper. "We shall have to go around from the back."

"The side, rather," Edmund corrected. "I've a feeling on the other side the houses are the same. The only way to get into the gardens is from the end house." This was like the stratagems he used to plan with Peter in their Narnian days.

Peter grabbed Edmund's arm. "No! Look! The house next door is quite empty." Edmund looked up and saw that the windows were all dark and the glass was blown out of all the window panes.

"Yes! Polly said that house is usually empty—" here he snickered at the irony. "Because of the drains."

This struck them both as so funny they doubled over in the middle of the street, laughing silently until their sides hurt from repressing it. It was not that the joke was particularly funny, it was just that the spirit of adventure was running so high in them that they were quite excited.

The door was locked, of course, but Peter gave Edmund a boost through the side window, and he let Peter in. They stepped through the house which had been empty for so long it was covered in dust and quite uninteresting. Then they were at the back door. With a shining smile, Peter pushed it open, and they found themselves in an overgrown garden still hidden in morning shadow. It smelled rich and wild and it was very quiet except for a few bees buzzing around the honeysuckle. Edmund thought at once that if he ever bought a house it would have such a garden, a place that was never tilled but haphazard and carefree.

He wanted to stay a moment, but Peter was nudging him, so he went to the wall and hoisted himself over. Peter did the same, and in a second they were standing in another back garden. This one was far more groomed and well-mannered than the other. Indeed, one would never guess the two gardens were neighbors if it weren't for a little of the climbing ivy spilling over the red brick wall. There were neat rows of violets lining the path, and vegetables twining around stalks with the seed packets stapled to them. It was so English Edmund didn't like it.

Still, there was something that hung in the air that made Peter say "This is it. I can feel the magic here." Edmund agreed, though it seemed like the least likely place to find something from another world. He looked around him carefully as he walked to the corner where the tree had been.

He and Peter exchanged a glance and dug their spades into the earth with suppressed smiles. A dog began barking inside, and they had a furious, tense few minutes where they seemed to be digging and digging and nothing seemed to be happening. This was very bad because they were sure the people inside would wake up and find them. They dug as fast as they could, waiting for the cry of surprise. Then came the grateful moment when Edmund's shovel scraped on something and Peter stooped to pick up a box from the earth. They were sure they heard something then, so they left the shovels where they were and leapt over the hedge. They sank against the ivy covered wall panting a little and sweating, but grinning from ear to ear.


	6. The Danger of Strange Rings

"So," Peter said. "Let us have a look at these rings."

Edmund felt this was a very unwise thing to do, but Peter had opened the catch on the box before he could say anything. He as resigned to this moment anyway, where Peter would think he was denying him Narnia.

The rings were bright yellow and green, just as the Professor had said. What he had not said was how shiny and attractive they were. However, it was not the warm brightness of a golden crown or the cheerful transparent green of beech leaves. Edmund didn't quite know how to describe it. He didn't know of the lurid city being born in the American desert, but if he had ever seen the neon lights of Las Vegas he would have thought instantly of those rings. They even gave off a faint hum like a neon sign. Starting at them Edmund felt excited, but it was not the wholesome excitement of pulling away from port on the _Dawn Treader_ or seeing the edges of the world and the beginning of Aslan's country. Nor was it the shiver of bravery and high adventure as he rode to battle. Edmund searched his memories to find where he felt the same high-fevered, ill thrill before.

He remembered with a sickening jolt at the exact moment when Peter breathed in a queer voice "How very remarkable," and reached out to touch the rings.

"Peter, no!" Edmund cried suddenly and sharply. He snapped the box shut, and apparently just in time because it closed on Peter's fingers.

Peter gave a cry of pain and shook his stinging hand, glaring at Edmund from under a scowling brow. "What the devil did you do that for?" he demanded.

Edmund scrambled to his feet to hold the box away from Peter. "You must not touch those rings," Edmund gasped. His mouth was unnaturally red.

"Must not? I am unused to dictums from my younger brother." Peter was suddenly pale and his jaw was tight.

"Don't do this. Don't let this take hold of you," Edmund pleaded. He noticed his breath was thick and sticky and too hot, as if he was expelling something that had made him sick once. _It's just like fighting with Caspian on Deathwater. Peter's not himself and I've got to fight him, but I don't know what to do._ He would not admit out loud or even in the upper part of his consciousness that it was also like Deathwater because part of him wanted the rings for his own.

Peter stared up at Edmund for a long moment. If he had seen his brother after his first encounter with the White Witch, he would have recognized the sick pallor and the red splotched cheeks. This was different, though, because Edmund's dark eyes were blazing intently, not maliciously. "Do what? Lay claim to a rightful way to get to Narnia?" Peter demanded, rising. He reached reflexively for a sword that was not there, and Edmund felt his stomach lurch.

"Listen! These rings—don't trust them. They give me the same awful feeling as the Witch's Turkish Delight. If we're meant to get to Narnia, it's not this way. We can't break Aslan's commandment. Trust me, in the name of Aslan."

Peter stood tensed for a moment. The he let out his breath and his fist uncurled. After a moment where his stare was blank, he shook himself and said "That feels rather like coming out of a fever," Peter said breathlessly. "I am sorry, Ed."

Edmund gulped and nodded. He felt shaky as if he'd just been sick. He let himself sink down on the grass again. He was relieved of course that Peter had relented before it came to blows, but what left him with the taste of bile in his mouth was that he could say "Trust me, in the name of Aslan," and Peter would. Wasn't invoking Aslan's name for someone to trust in him, Edmund, deepest of all Narnian traitors, a form of blasphemy?

Peter saw his brother's face, but he was blaming himself. "I don't know what came over me," he said, dropping onto the grass beside Edmund. "I saw those rings, and I—"

_Oh, shut up. Shut up! You don't know anything about it._ Edmund drew his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his arms. He wished he were sick, because there might be a cure then.

Peter broke off what he was saying and laid a hand on his brother's back. "Ed? Are you all right?"

For a long time Edmund said nothing. Then he turned his head so he could look at Peter and said in a thin and weary voice, "I know what Aslan did. For me, I mean."

Peter whistled. "How did you find out?"

"I figured it out. You may have forbidden everyone to talk about it, but it was Narnia's worst-kept secret. And that's only right."

Peter's face grew hard, as if he would like to chastise someone for breaking his commandment. _But all those subjects have been dead for centuries. Now there's only me to deal with._ "You weren't meant to know," he said quietly.

"I don't think that's true," Edmund said in his slow, contemplative tone. "I think you were just trying to protect me from knowing." He smiled a spectral sort of smile that made him look grim indeed with his pallor and his face in the shadow of the wall. "But what I want to know, Peter, is why you wanted to protect me. I was going to sell your life—your's and Susan's and Lucy's—for power and Turkish Delight." He stood up and began to pace in front of his brother.

"That was so long ago—" Peter began, but Edmund cut him off.

"Time doesn't erase the deed, does it? Narnia hasn't forgotten. I sailed to the end of the world a millennium after our reign, practically, and I saw the very knife the Witch used to kill Aslan. It's the cruelest looking thing I ever saw, and there it sits along with the feast at Aslan's Table saying to everyone 'don't forget.' But you would have me forget. Rather, you would keep me from knowing."

"Because I wanted to keep this from happening! Edmund, you shouldn't do this to yourself, you…" Peter trailed off here; he apparently was out of things to say.

Edmund snorted a little derisively. "You're at a loss for words, but there's so many things you could have—should have—said. Didn't you ever want to know why I was going to sell all your lives to the White Witch? I know you're not afraid for yourself, but you are afraid for Susan and Lucy. Don't you want to know why I would do that to them?"

Peter simply stared at his brother. His eyes were very keen and very bright.

"I did it because I was mad at you," Edmund pressed forward. "I hated you for being so noble and so good. I hated being told that I should be more like you. Oh, don't shake your head and start to apologize. It's not _your_ fault. Lucy's got to live up to Susan and the way people rave on about her beauty. It takes something to turn a little resentment at being shunted to the side to an evil greed."

Peter was on his feet now too. "You are not evil, Ed, and we are none of us perfect. Why I--"

Edmund shook his head. "No, Peter. There is nothing so bad you could have done. You're not capable of it. You put an entire kingdom ahead of your own needs. I had to stop riding to battle with you because you would risk everything to protect my life over your own. You are like Aslan in that you're willing to sacrifice yourself for those you love. That's why they called you King Peter the Magnificent."

"That wasn't it, and I'm no better than you, and you were King Edmund the Just. All of that…you were different then. Susan and Lucy and I, we knew—"

He couldn't bear Peter's bracing speeches. Not when he didn't deserve it. He had no right to seek safe harbor. Edmund turned away, and he felt so perfectly wretched he had to wipe away a couple of tears. "Peter, you have been kind enough not to speak of this to me for all these years. Don't let's talk of it now. Let's just wire the others that we've got the rings." He walked into the house without a backward glance at his brother.


	7. Statues and the Stone Table

He was in the courtyard at Cair Paravel. The smooth stones were the same, their geometric pattern in slate green and orange sandstone familiar. Familiar, and beautiful, but he was uncomfortable. The sun was shining in the west; sunset was near. The shadows were long and black and the light was a deep orange, so deep it was almost blood-red.

A cold wind blew and he shivered. His knees were cold. The sensation was so odd after so long that he looked down. He was wearing short pants and knee socks as he used to as a boy. As he was wearing when he first entered Narnia. In fact, he realized these were the clothes he had been wearing, and these were his eleven year old legs. The light was very queer.

He entered the short passage leading to the Great Hall, and the echo of his footsteps was unnaturally loud. The joyful castle was mournful and silent. Edmund felt his heart beating in his throat. None of this was right. Where were the fauns? The centaurs and the dryads wandering the halls as nobles of the court? Where was Lucy's laugh?

The stained glass window behind the thrones faced east. He had never really liked to look at it at night. Then all the comforting Narnian symbols were indecipherable against the darkness and the fanciful designs turned eerie, phantasmagoric. He had commanded a lantern set outside the window in the evening; he had done that almost the first week he was king. Why was it not there now?

Then he looked in front of the window and saw that it framed them in a horrid tableau. The White Witch—_she!_—was standing in front of the thrones. She was looking away from him, staring with an intent hunger at Peter's throne. She took a step towards it. He meant to shout "No!" but the scream died on his lips. He had seen what was but a little to her right.

Peter stood in front of Susan and Lucy, his jaw set, his eyes defiant. He was brandishing his sword. He was perfectly immobile. She had already turned him to stone. He had died defending his sisters. Susan was at his shoulder, clinging to Peter, her beautiful features arranged in an expression of horror and surprise. She was the vision of an artist, a Narnian Venus de Milo, and to see her beauty petrified made him gag. But worse, infinitely worse, was that Lucy was crumpled at Peter's feet, clinging to his legs and still very much alive. She was sobbing.

Edmund ran to her at once. His shoes made a terrific noise as he crossed the marble floor, but the Witch was still staring at the throne. She must have noticed, but she let him pass.

"Lucy! Lu! Come on, we have to get out of here." He tugged at her arm, but she wouldn't budge. She kept on crying.

"Now! While there's still time!"

She didn't get up. Instead, she released her hold on Peter and threw her arms around Edmund. "We can't leave Peter and Susan!"

"There's nothing we can do for him right now. We have to go. We'll find Aslan—he'll set things right."

Strangely, Lucy stopped crying at once. She glanced to the other side of the dais, in front of where her own throne was. Edmund followed her wide-eyed gaze and saw Aslan. He was there, but his living gold had been turned to gray stone. He thought he had seen this in the Witch's courtyard but this was worse. Far worse. Aslan was dead. There was no resurrection this time. His arms trembled around Lucy. "We have to go," he repeated thickly. "We still have to try."

"Oh, Edmund! It's too late." Lucy cried into his shoulder. She clung to him, her whole body heaving with sobs. Then all at once she stopped moving, and he realized she had suddenly become cold and stiff. Now she too was stone.

The Witch was standing above him, and she was smiling. "Son of Adam, Prince of Narnia, you have served me well. Would you like a piece of Turkish Delight?" her smile was cruel.

Edmund awoke with a sick, choking, wet gasp which shuddered through his entire body. He knew before he even looked at the clock what time it would be. _3am._

He turned on his side and gazed out the window. There was a full moon hanging in the sky. It shed a soft light over everything, but it was a small, faraway moon. A breeze moved through the treetops and Edmund shivered too. He rested his cheek on his hand and found out that it was wet. He had been crying in his sleep. This was not the first time.

How he hated that dream! He had dreamt it before in many variations. Sometimes the Witch descended upon them at Beaversdam. Other times Peter made his last stand at Lantern Waste or Susan led the flight to Archenland, winding her horn on the way. But they were always, always caught. They always died while he watched. That was only just. He had escaped it in reality only to watch his worst moment replay itself in his nightmares. A light sentence, compared with what might have actually happened.

He got up and wandered down the hall, limping slightly as he went. His knee was still stiff. He passed the girls' room, inhabited only by Susan for the moment. The door was ajar and Susan was curled in her bed. The moonlight shone on her face, and her hair curled on the pillow and around her shoulders in soft black waves, like the sea at night lapping white sand. Her eyelashes fluttered on her cheek, and whatever dream she was having was a happy one indeed, because the faintest smile pulled at her lips. He wondered what other people dreamt of, and if ever in Susan's subconscious she went back to Narnia. He hoped that she did.

He turned away from her and continued down the hall. Peter's door was half-open; he pushed it the rest of the way and entered the room as silently as he could. Peter was lying on his back his arms thrown out wide, stretching across the bed. He looked noble as he always did, but something in his face made Edmund realize his boyhood wasn't so far behind him. _This is the sleep of those with a restful conscience_, Edmund thought.

He went back to his room, dragging his leg and mulling things over. The moon was soft, like a pearl of light, and as he stared at it the plea bubbled up inside him, almost unbidden. _Aslan, please. Give me the rest that Peter and Susan have. Help set me free._

The next thing Edmund knew he was standing atop a hill, staring at Cair Paravel winking like a jewel in the full light of sunrise. He stared at the castle a second and then realized instantly where he was. The Stone Table. _Oh, if this is another nightmare, if it all happens here…_

He willed himself to turn around as quickly as possible, to get it over with, to see the worst. But instead of finding his brother and sisters facing the White Witch, he was staring at the Stone Table split in two. The light was very new and yellow and the grass was a vivid, real green, warm colors that filled him with a full joy and a peace that spread to his toes. At last this was a dream and not a nightmare, and he was so happy he didn't know what to do. Overhead, the sky was shining an opaline white. Everything was wet and dripping as if there had just been a rainstorm, or possibly a melted frost. Edmund stooped to touch the dew on a flower petal and then raised his fingers to his lips. The taste of the dew was glorious, so clean and free and new. _Why am I here? What part of me deserves this?_

He felt at once that he was not alone, and he was a little afraid but not startled. He looked slowly over his shoulder and saw Aslan sitting on the other side of the Table, his tail wound around his legs.

"Edmund, Son of Adam," he said in a low voice which echoed around the empty space. "I have been waiting for you."

"Waiting for me?" Edmund stammered.

"I have waited here for many years." The Lion did not blink as he spoke; his steady eyes were fixed on Edmund.

"But how--? Is this a dream too?"

"Is that important?"

"No," Edmund said, looking down. "I suppose not. But sir, why have you been waiting? You have always come to us before." He noticed that his voice was higher than he was used to, the voice of a child. So he was a boy here, too.

"I was waiting for you to come to me."

All at once, without knowing what exactly caused it, Edmund felt like he was going to cry. He swallowed hard.

"You are despairing, Son of Adam. Come to me for comfort."

Edmund looked up at Aslan, so huge and so brightly gold, and he shook his head. "I can't," he said, his voice breaking.

"Why not?"

"Aslan, I—I know what you did for me. Here, at the Stone Table."

"That is only right. I meant for you to know." Still, Aslan remained immobile, his only movement the twitching of his tail around his paws.

Edmund screwed up his face, making every effort not to cry. He hadn't cried since way before he ever even knew of Narnia, not even when he was king and those sort of things were okay. "Why, Aslan? I don't deserve this."

"No, you do not."

And now at last he could stop the tears. When he had seen Peter cry, the tears flowed smoothly down his cheeks, but that because he was unafraid to cry. Edmund body shuddered with the sobs because he was trying to hold them back. He tried to speak between them. "I tried. I tried to be good. I tried to earn it."

Aslan's eyes were still very steady as he said "That is impossible to do."

Edmund was beginning to realize that _this_ was his worst nightmare. He was about to give himself over to despair, that horrid poisonous feeling scathing his insides, when Aslan said "Son of Adam, walk with me."

There was nothing Edmund could do but obey. He tried to wipe some of the tears off his face, but of course this was useless as he wasn't done crying. He only succeeded in making his face dirty. He shoved his hands in his pockets—they were the pockets of his short pants—and crossed the distance to Aslan.

Aslan led them in a circle round the Stone Table, and Edmund felt caught between his Scylla and Charybdis. Either he would be dashed against the rock of the Table or devoured by the Lion. After they had made a full circuit, Aslan said at last, "Son of Adam, you are despairing, but I have not meant for you to despair."

"What else am I to do, Aslan? You died for me. And who am I? I can't even be worthy of such a thing."

"You have forgotten what we spoke of when you returned from the Witch."

"Never! Never for a second," Edmund stopped crying to protest in earnest.

"Then you never really understood." He stopped and placed his heavy paw on Edmund's shoulder. "You cannot earn forgiveness or sacrifice, Edmund. It is a gift given freely. There is no justice to it. You have spent long years seeking a reason, seeking a logical solution, but the thing does not exist. You have served me well, and you have learned from your actions, but there is one thing you have failed to see in all this time, and it is the one thing that I wanted you to understand the most."

"What is it, Aslan?"

"There is a force stronger than justice. Stronger than laws or magic. And that is love. Edmund, you cannot earn what I did for you, but that doesn't matter, because you are loved. In that knowledge, love others and despair no more."

There was a swirl of color, and at first Edmund had a hard time understanding that he was back in England in his bed. He was staring out the window to see a fine summer morning, full of blue sky and sunshine. The sun was already well above the horizon. He felt a cool shadow stretch across him, and he turned his head to see Peter standing over him smiling.

"Well here's a turn of events," Peter said. "Usually you are up hours before me. Have you slept through the night for once? Come on," he tossed Edmund a jumper. "We have to catch the train to meet the others."

* * *

_A/N: Okay, the dream sequence with Aslan was incredibly, incredibly hard to write. I'm still not sure if it came out well, so constructive criticism there is especially appreciated. It had to do so many things, I hope it succeeded at least in part._


	8. The Waystation

It was one by the station clock. Edmund had taken off his sweater and put it on the seat beside him. It was a bright, crisp late summer day, and the air was heavy with the smell of flowers and the lazy buzzing of bees. It would have been a good day for a picnic, but Edmund wasn't in the mood for a picnic. He wanted to get up and pace, but his knee was too sore for him to do that. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair. He checked the clock for the second time in two minutes, and then his watch to make sure the clock was right. Jill and Eustace's train was due in half an hour.

He noticed that Peter's hands were clenched rather tight around the box which held the rings. True to his word, he hadn't looked at them again, but he insisted on keeping the box. Edmund thought that was only right. Besides, if he could trust anyone, it was Peter.

He shifted a little and looked away into the shrubs growing across the tracks; this thought made him a little uncomfortable. _Can anyone trust me so implicitly?_ He couldn't pursue melancholy, though. The station was so sleepy and the sun on his back was so warm. All around them the trees were quiet. It was a waystation between rail lines, but that was the place's only purpose. Edmund might have been lulled to sleep if he hadn't been so anxious.

Peter seemed to be getting restless too. He yawned and stretched. "Did you know that Mum and Dad are traveling today too?" Edmund knew he said it just for the sake of doing something other than just sitting.

"Really. Where are they going?" Edmund took the bait.

"Bristol. Dad told me this morning. He invited me and Susan to come along at breakfast, but I told him you and I were traveling today," Peter explained nonchalantly.

"Did Susan go with them?"

"No, she said she was going to the cinema with her friends."

"That's like Susan," Edmund sighed.

Peter nodded. He contemplated the toe of his shoe a moment before saying "Ed, where did we lose her? Was it when she went to America?"

Thinking of Susan was painful, but what hurt even more was hearing Peter's voice break as he spoke of her. "I think it was even before that," Edmund said slowly. "When we came back from Narnia the first time…don't you remember?"

"She didn't say much. She spent a lot of time alone," Peter added.

Edmund picked up the thread. "We wanted to talk about Narnia all the time, but it was as though she couldn't bear it. Every time Lucy started to reminisce she would go take a walk by herself."

"And when we went back—do you remember when she found the chess knight? She almost cried. But I didn't want to cry, I—Edmund, that moment, when I realized I was back in Narnia, it was almost the best thing that's ever happened to me. And Susan could only think of crying."

"Come to that," Edmund said, "How did she react when Aslan told you both you wouldn't return?"

Peter let out his breath and pushed his hair back. "She didn't say anything then, but there wasn't a lot to say, really. We knew we couldn't argue, though it was awfully hard to hear."

"But what did she do?" Edmund pressed.

Peter squinted, trying to remember. "She…she turned very white, I remember, and there was this strange thing: a shadow seemed to fall across her face. It was almost as if she stopped being a queen, but that can't be. Aslan himself said we are always kings and queens. But still, even Aslan noticed the change in her. He kissed her to give her confidence, and when he turned to me I could see that his eyes were sad. Oh! I almost forgot, and this was the strangest thing of all. When he turned to me and I saw the sadness in his eyes he said to me—well, he didn't exactly speak but I heard him anyway—'Remember Peter, only Susan can save herself.' But he kissed me before I could ask him about it and then we were going back to everyone and back to England."

"She was never steadfast like Lucy or strong like you. Rather, she was always realistic, always skeptical."

"She wasn't herself when we went back to help Caspian," Peter agreed. He turned the box over in his hands, his brow furrowed. "But that's the thing. We know Susan. She was always gentle and tender-hearted. True, she could sometimes be foolish—"

"Like with Rabadash?" Edmund broke in with a snicker.

Peter smiled. "Exactly the error in judgment I was thinking of. She was foolish, as I say, but that still doesn't explain who she is now. These frivolities of boys and parties and clothes don't suit her."

"They do," Edmund differed. "She loved her clothes in Narnia and the court festivals, and she had suitors from all over that world."

"But there was something more to her. She loved those things, but she loved us. She loved Narnia. She loved Aslan. Where is all that love? Can it just disappear?" Edmund didn't answer, and Peter pressed forward. "Will she ever find it again? Can she find her way back?"

"Yes," Edmund answered in a strong, clear voice. "She can't earn it, but she can find it. If she wants" he added softly.

_Can _I_ find my way back? Can I find redemption?_ Edmund asked himself. _Have I even looked for it? I've spent so long thinking I wasn't worthy, but then Aslan says I never can be I must simply accept that he loves me that much. How can I go forward if I can't let go the past? I don't even know if Peter's forgiven me. I've never heard him say the words. I suppose he has, but—_"Peter, do you forgive me?" he asked aloud, quite suddenly.

Peter stared at his brother, slightly nonplussed by his sudden impassioned outburst. "For what?" he questioned Edmund.

Edmund swallowed. "For what I did—in Narnia. For betraying you."

"Edmund! Didn't you know the answer to that long ago?" Peter almost sounded hurt.

"You trust me, then?"

"With my life." His reply was immediate and certain.

_But I don't trust myself with his life. I don't trust myself at all, as if I don't really believe in redemption._

_But I do. I know what Aslan did for me, and I know that dream wasn't just any dream. I know he did it for me, but why don't I "feel it" as Lucy would say?_

The answer struck him all at once, and it was so simple Edmund wanted to laugh out loud. _All this time all I had to do was forgive myself._ He felt like someone had turned on the color and the light in England. For a moment that in-between train station became almost as glorious as Narnia. He saw in the white flowers growing by the side of the tracks a whiteness that rivaled the Silver Sea. _Can I?_ He looked at Peter. He looked around him. He asked himself _If at this moment the Witch rode up and tried to tempt me, what would I do?_ The answer was so quick it was practically automatic, but he felt its truth. _I would reach for a sword and lop off her head. Lacking a sword I would grab the first thing I could to fight her, and if I still couldn't find anything I would go at her with my fists. She has no power over me anymore. Her enchantment is long over—I can't even see Turkish Delight anymore! I am for Narnia, and Aslan._

And so, he let it go. He knew that he would never betray Peter and Susan and Lucy again, that he would in fact die defending them. Nothing could erase what he had done, but the intervening years had shown that wasn't the only thing that defined him. _I am who I am today because I did this thing. I learned from it, and now I must learn to move past it. Let it go, Edmund._

Peter was staring at him, so he smiled and said simply. "If Mum and Dad are going to Bristol, they're bound to be on the same train as the others."

"And Lucy doesn't know. How funny." Peter was grinning at Edmund as if he knew, at least in part, what was really going on. Edmund didn't doubt it. "We shall have to tell her when we see her. She'll be glad to hear it."

Edmund nodded. "I imagine she will. And you know what else? After we leave this station, you and me and Lucy, we have to start," he said.

"Start what?" Peter asked.

"Our lives. We've got to go and do something. I don't want to be in London anymore, Peter. We should find someplace quiet to live, someplace on the sea."

"The sea," Peter murmured. "That would be nice. I could work with horses," he offered with a boyish grin.

"And Lucy ought to work with children. I could be a schoolmaster. Or something. Live a quiet life."

"We could have a library like the Professor."

"And a garden in the back, spilling flowers—for Lucy."

"She would be happier by the sea," Peter agreed. He settled back on the bench, quite at his royal ease. "I knew you had plans!"

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Edmund could see in Peter's eyes that he was daydreaming of where they might go. Edmund was not the daydreaming sort; he was looking at everything keenly as his mind started making plans. In looking at the deserted platform drenched in sun, he felt a great pull of memory, as if he remembered something from a dream. He exclaimed, "I say! We've been here nearly three quarters of an hour now, and neither of us has said anything about this place."

Peter grinned. "This is where we were when Caspian winded his horn."

"When we all went back to Narnia," Edmund added in a dreamy tone reminiscent of Lucy.

They both got up. The train was coming around the bend. Edmund was ready.

* * *

_A/N: Theoretically, I could end here, but I feel we simply must go to Narnia. Hence, one more chapter._

_ Somewhere along the way I lost steam. I don't know if this chapter is quite where I wanted it to be, but I've stared at it for two days straight and figured if anything, it could use a fresh pair of eyes. So fire away, people.  
_


	9. Homecoming

"Too fast," Peter mused, and Edmund knew exactly what he was talking about. The train was going far too fast for one about to pull into a station. Then there was a screech of metal on metal and the horn of the train and the roar of the engine all at once. Those sounds ripped through the quiet of the station. The noise was so deafening that Edmund had to cover his ears, his eyes squeezed shut.

There was a sudden bang. Edmund was thrown off his feet but strangely, he felt very light. It seemed to take unnaturally long to hit the ground.

The next thing he knew he was sitting in the grass. Before he could figure out how he got there from the concrete platform, he realized something else. His knee had stopped hurting. Just like that it was good as new, and it had been bothering him for the better part of a week. He rubbed it experimentally and flexed it, but it was as though the hack the other day had never happened. Rather, he felt as though he could run a marathon on it.

He looked up to tell Peter about it, but when he saw his brother his jaw dropped. Peter was also sitting in the glass just a few yards away. The sun was shining in his golden hair and his blue eyes were glowing. He would have looked very kingly if his mouth had not been open wide in surprise.

"Edmund, you—" he stammered, and his voice was trembling. "Your _clothes_. Look at you!"

Edmund looked more carefully and realized that he was no longer in the shirt and trousers he had been wearing on the platform. Instead he was in full Narnian regalia, a glittering mail shirt and a fine silk tunic embroidered with a lion rampant. Normally he didn't take much account of clothes, but he couldn't help but notice that the gold of the lion was brighter than any gold he had ever seen in thread and the red of the silk was richer and softer than he had ever known. The mail shirt was more intricately worked than the finest dwarf-wrought mail. He looked up at Peter again and saw that he too was dressed in same Narnian clothes. A sword lay beside him in the grass. "You've got a sword," he said, nodding towards it. He felt his eyes widen.

Peter picked it up and drew it from his sheath, staring at the glittering weapon with bemusement. "Whither this sword and these clothes?" He looked to Edmund. "You have your crown again."

Edmund reached up and felt the circlet of gold on his head. "So have you," he replied, noticing that Peter was wearing his crown of old. "Are we back? Is this…is this Narnia?"

Peter stood up, sheathed the sword and shook his head. "It cannot be. We're under Aslan's commandment not to return there." His voice was low, but Edmund noticed he didn't look or sound as sad as he usually did when he talked about not going back to Narnia. He realized that when he thought about not going back there he couldn't quite manage sadness either.

Peter, who Edmund realized was looking more like the High King he was, picked up another sword and handed it to Edmund. Now Edmund rose and buckled the sword around his waist and felt that the leather was the most supple he had ever touched. At the same time he noticed what a clear shade of blue the sky was, and he wondered that he could have called anything before blue.

"I still don't understand," he breathed in wonder. "Where is the station platform? Where is the train? Where are the others?"

Peter shook his head and chuckled. "I have the same questions too. And yet it's strange--I'm not worried."

Edmund thought about this for a second. "No, I'm not either. Just very curious." He tried to remember what had happened, but it was hard to recall exactly what the station platform had been like. He remembered vaguely that he had been staring at the place for some time, and that he had been troubled and a little sad, but it was getting harder and harder to remember exactly what it was to have been sad.

While he was puzzling over this, a clear bright voice called "Peter! Edmund!"

Both of them wheeled around and saw Lucy sprinting towards them, her cloak streaming out behind her, her dress fluttering at her feet, her golden hair flying. Edmund wondered why everyone had always called Susan the prettier one, for Lucy looked so fresh and beautiful now. She hugged them both at the same time. "I knew I'd find you here! I just knew it!"

"But do you know where we are?" Peter asked.

Lucy looked around her and the smile never left her face. "I'm not sure what it's called, but I know I've been waiting to come here my whole life."

This was so like Lucy that it made Edmund hug her all over again. Once he had shied away from hugs, but in this place he felt it stranger to restrain himself.

Lucy laughed brightly, and when he let her go she kept her hands on his shoulders, examining him from arm's length. "I say, Edmund, you look better than you've looked for ages! Your eyes are so wonderfully clear. Do you know I haven't seen you look like that since you were healed on the battlefield at Beruna? In fact, when you left the other day—or last week? How long ago was it?—I was worried about you."

"Well," Edmund said, breathing in deeply. "I'm better now."

"Here come two strangers," Peter commented, looking past them.

"Why those aren't strangers at all! Don't you recognize Polly and the Professor?" Lucy asked, and she raised her arm in salutation.

When Edmund looked into their faces he could see it was them, though they walked with ease, not as stiff elderly people. They were, at most, a scant handful of years older than Peter. They shook hands all around and were just beginning a confusing conversation about how they all got there when the Professor broke in. "What is that door?"

Everyone looked and saw at once what he meant. They went towards it. Edmund went round it and declared "It seems to lead to nowhere."

"Perhaps we should open the door and see if we can see something through it," Peter suggested. "After all, Aslan has drawn doors in the air before."

He was just reaching for the handle when it opened of its own accord and they all jumped back. A Calormene soldier came in with a drawn scimitar. Instinctively, Peter and Edmund drew their swords. The ring of it was loud in that glade, but the Calormene didn't turn or look in their direction.

"Marry, but that's odd," Edmund whispered to Peter. He didn't realize he too was falling into his kingly speech. "A Calormene would never stand down from a challenge."

"I shall go and speak to him," Peter said, stepping forward. "Hail! Are you servant of a Tarkaan? Whither come you? What is your purpose?" When the man didn't turn or acknowledge him, Peter added. "Answer me, for I am the High King Peter of Narnia."

Still nothing, but Edmund was noticing something else. "Do you think he can even see us? He hasn't looked at the sun or the sky or the grass yet, and you can't help noticing them."

"Perhaps not," the Professor agreed. "Let's wait to see what happens."

Peter nodded, but both he and Edmund kept their swords drawn.

After a space of moments which felt like a long time—though no one could be quite sure afterwards how long—the door opened again and a cat came in. The Calormene did not make ready to strike. Then Edmund felt a shudder of dread go through him and settle in the pit of his stomach and all at once a creature was there on their side of the door. It was skeletally thin with four arms and the head of an awful, bloodthirsty vulture, and though Edmund had never seen it before, he knew to call it Tash.

A cat entered the door, and when it saw Tash it ran even as the monster lunged for it. Its beak scraped against the wood of the slamming door. The Calormene trembled and bowed—apparently he could see Tash—but Tash vanished with no trace, as it had come. Lucy was a little pale when she said "I would not like to see what would have happened if the cat had not run."

"Nor would I," Edmund confided in a whisper.

After that they wondered less about what the beautiful place was and concentrated on the stable door. After the cat, a noble-looking young Tarkaan came in. "He has a good face," Lucy murmured. "Let us speak to him."

So Peter and Edmund went forward and tried to address him, but though he seemed to see them all he could say was "Tash, Tash. I go to Tash," like a man in a trance. He wandered away.

Edmund shook his head at Lucy. "It's no good now. Maybe we can talk some sense into him later."

"We should try," Lucy said. "I liked his face."

"Tis true he had an honest look to him," Peter agreed. He put his hand on her shoulder. "We'll try to find him later, Lu. Apparently he's got to walk it off. It is rather a shock being here."

No sooner had Peter finished saying these words than a dozen dwarfs came tumbling through the door. Like the Calormene, they appeared not to see the sun or the sky either, and when Edmund and Peter called to them, they said nothing. An ape followed, at which point Tash appeared and made quick work of him. Before they could puzzle over it much the door opened again and a person was flung in, yelling mightily.

Edmund laughed as soon as he recognized the figure. "No need to yell so, Eustace," he said cheerfully, stepping forward to help his cousin up.

"Edmund!" Eustace cried, wide-eyed with surprise. "How did you get here? Why's it so _light_? We were just fighting; it was the middle of the night when that Calormene threw me through the door, that brute, that—" he broke off and sighed. "Tirian's right. I've got to stop calling names."

"Who's Tirian?" Peter asked.

"Peter! You're here too! Hullo, you're all here. I say, I've been on some strange adventures in my life, but this is the strangest of all."

"Eustace, who's Tirian?" Peter repeated patiently. "And where's Jill?"

"Jill?" Eustace echoed. "I—I don't know. We were fighting all around the stable, and I lost track of her. I do hope she's alright."

"Fighting?" Peter said.

"Yes. Oh, you don't want to know about it, it's too terrible what's going on in Narnia. Tirian's king now, and he's a good king, but it's a mess. The Calormenes have taken over, the dwarves are shooting everyone, no reinforcements are coming to the king."

"One shall," Peter declared. He gripped his sword tighter and prepared to go through the door. Before he had even taken a step forward, though, the door opened again and Jill was pitched in. Eustace turned very red in a moment, as if the blood started flowing from his heart again.

"Jill!" he cried, rushing over to her. "Jill are you—but of course you're alright." He frowned. "You look quite lovely, honestly."

Jill picked herself up from the ground and looked at Eustace. "So do you," she said with a grin. "But where's Tirian?"

"I don't know. None of us knows anything."

Meanwhile Edmund leaned over and whispered to Peter "This may not be Narnia, but I'm certain it's got something to do with Narnia."

"I feel exactly the same way," Peter answered.

"Do you?" Lucy's whisper was a thrill. "Because so do I."

Jill was just looking around in wonder at the others and asking "But how did you all get here?" when a pair of figures came through, a Narnian King dragging a Calormene by the belt. The Calormene was swinging his scimitar, but the Narnian was unarmed. Edmund felt the coldness sweep through him and he knew Tash was back. This time Tash spoke to the Calormene.

"Thou hast called me into Narnia, Rishda Tarkaan. Here I am. What hast thou to say?"

Edmund hated the harsh, croaking sound of the monster's voice, but more horrid still was when it bent to pluck the writhing Tarkaan from the ground. Lucy turned and hid her face against him. He put an arm around her, all the while praying that Tash would not see the Narnian.

He did. He fixed the young king with a terrifying and fierce stare and seemed about to make the same movement for him when Peter said with cool and strong authority "Begone, Monster, and take your lawful prey to your own place: in the name of Aslan and Aslan's great Father, the Emperor-Over-Sea."

Peter the High King spoke with such authority that even Tash could not disobey. He disappeared with the Tarkaan under his arm and left the Narnian with them. The King, who Edmund supposed was Tirian who Eustace and Jill had been talking about, looked at them with frank astonishment until Jill laughed. Then she stepped forward and said in the high court language he had never heard her use "Sire, let me make you known to Peter, High King over all Kings in Narnia."

Hearing his brother so called again after so many long years made Edmund's heart swell with pride. And Peter looked far nobler than he ever had as he stepped forward to receive the King. Once Peter had raised him up, Edmund recognized him at once as the Narnian who had appeared to them at the Professor's house, only here he looked bolder and truer. Edmund greeted him warmly, but then came the uncomfortable moment when he asked about Susan. Peter said simply "My sister Susan is no longer a friend of Narnia," but Edmund felt all the grief in that statement. _All she has to do is want to come back and she shall find her way_, he reminded himself, and that kept him from despair.

He would have been very glad for the conversation to end there, and from the look on Lucy and Peter's faces he surmised they felt the same. Eustace and Polly and Jill, however, felt the need to vent some spleen about Susan. Edmund was about to get angry when Peter cut the conversation short and suggested they eat the fruit hanging all around them.

After they had eaten they told Tirian about their arrival, and Edmund found he had difficulty describing exactly what happened. The train station seemed further away than ever after all those strange events. Then Lucy took up the narrative of what happened after they arrived. Edmund liked the look in Tirian's eyes while he listened to her, and he thought that while many men looked Susan's way, none of them drank in her words or her voice or her spirit the way Tirian listened to Lucy now, or the way Caspian had listened to her so many years ago.

Together Tirian and Lucy tried to talk some sense into the dwarves, who were seated some ways away, but to no avail. Then, just as he had felt a sick shudder when Tash showed up, before he had even seen Tash, Edmund felt a wonderful, tingling warmth spread down his back, to the tips of his fingers and toes. He rushed forward with the others to greet the Great Lion. Aslan kissed them each in turn, and though he didn't speak aloud he said to Edmund "My son, you have learned well. You have given yourself this second life which I prepared for you. Live happy and in peace for all of time," and Edmund felt as though his heart would break from joy. He looked at Lucy, who had just received her greeting from Aslan, and she took his hand. Though she didn't say anything, her shining eyes plainly told him "I know exactly how you feel."

Edmund didn't often like to recall the next part; it hurt him to see the stars rain down and the Narnia he knew and called home die. Though he had been filled with terror and wonder, he was glad when Peter scraped the door closed over the ice and locked it. It meant he could turn away. The cold still hung over him, it settled inside him even in that fair country as they set off to follow Aslan. Peter wondered at Lucy's tears, but Edmund would have cried himself if he had been able to summon the faculty. All that coldness seemed to have frozen his tears. And yet as he walked he noticed that the land seemed familiar. Even the very grass, though greener than he thought green could be, seemed known to him.

He looked at the mountains they were facing, the way they cut the sky, and thought that they weren't England or anywhere on Earth, but the mountains of the Narnian west. Lucy called his attention south, and he recognized the twinned summit of Mount Pire. It had to be Narnia, but he didn't know how it could be, even when Farsight the Eagle told them of the landscape. It wasn't until the Professor explained that this was the true Narnia, the original from which the copy was made, that Edmund truly let himself rejoice.

They raced through the western wild, after Aslan, and they arrived at the gates of the garden where Reepicheep greeted them. Edmund looked around and knew that through all the long years and all the confusion and all the despair, he had found his way home.

* * *

_A/N: So several people have asked me to include all the fun details about their return to Narnia, meeting Reepicheep and Caspian and all that. What stories did they tell? What jokes did they revive? Unfortunately, this chapter was a) quite long enough and b) that stuff, while immense fun, doesn't really fit with the arc of the story. However, I think after I finish the Tetrology (four stories about the four Pevensies--see my profile if you're curious), I might close it off with a last chapter about the rewards each gets for overcoming their greatest hurdle. And add all the homecoming goodness. Y'all should know I'm a sucker for Caspian._

_ I want to thank everyone for their faithful reading and their awesome reviews. Everyone is so nice, I feel you all need to be harder on me. So if it ever occurs to you that there's something I can do that can make this story better, please don't hesitate to review or private message me. I can't even tell you how cool it is to get a review of any type; just knowing someone is reading my story gives me the warm fuzzies. And if you like it enough, could I make the humble request that you add my story to your favorites or a C2? Now that there's going to be no more updates on this story, I'm sad to think it'll get lost in the shuffle. I'm just a big attention ho at heart. Hence the heartfelt appreciation._

_ Don't worry, this is also not the last you'll hear from me! I have a new story all started and ready to post and tons more ideas brewing (including Susan's. I think hers will be the most complicated of all). Also, several people have offered several ideas for new stories. I **love** that. It usually gets my mind going and me thinking of things I never would have thought otherwise. If it weren't for Madelynne Rabb and others who asked that I continue after the end of Kings in Exile I don't know if I would have come up with this one. So my gratitude._

_Oh! Of course, the disclaimer. None of the Pevensies are mine, this whole thing is written in tribute to Jack, not to scam off him. And so, though I'm way too lazy to cite the pages, some of the dialogue in this last chapter comes directly from The Last Battle, particularly Chapter XII, "Through the Stable Door" and Chapter XIII "How the Dwarves Refused to be Taken in." If I ever meet C.S. Lewis beyond the Shadowlands one day, I am going to have a long conversation with him about how truly awesome Narnia is to me and how much it's actually changed me.  
_

_ Look at that. Four whole paragraphs of author's notes, and it's still not nearly as long as the story. Yes, prolific truly is my middle name. But my secret one. Like in "The Naming of Cats." (By T.S. Eliot. Not Andrew Lloyd Webber)  
_


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